


The Fruits of Self Control

by FanGirling



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Episode Related, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanGirling/pseuds/FanGirling
Summary: *SPOILERS AHOY* I'm assuming we've all seen the season two finale by now. If you have, keep reading. If not, GO WATCH IT NOW. Anyway, my shipper heart couldn't deal with *the* phonecall reveal so here we are. AU for season finale, Elliot and Tyrell still fight but it may end differently. Mr. Robot is accidentally there as well.





	

I haven't often really looked down the barrel of a gun. Well, I guess most people haven't. But then you get involved with a criminal ring and are about to kill a whole building of people and then it happens and Tyrell's hand is shaking. He doesn't want to kill me, does he? He looks terrified, confused.

 

He doesn't want to kill me.

 

“I don't know what's gotten into you.” Why does he have tears in his eyes? Why does he care? We aren't friends, we're barely colleagues; a colleague only _he –_ Mr. Robot – has spoken to. I haven't had a real conversation with him, though I guess he doesn't know that, does he?

 

“We're supposed to be gods together and yet you want to destroy our destiny? You're not making sense.”

 

Gods, we could be gods? I hope he realises how stupid that sounds. What's the point in being a god in a world that's been destroyed? I won't be a god if it means killing a building full of people.

 

“Elliot, listen to him, walk away from the computer.” Mr. Robot looks desperate, they both do. Tyrell's hand is still shaking, his wedding band glistens in the low light.

 

Mr. Robot told me that Tyrell was dead. Why would he lie? What did he have to gain? So that I would assume a dead man couldn't help him enact Stage Two? To help _me_ enact Stage Two?

 

Look at them, look at their expressions. They look at me as if I'm going to implode but, who knows, maybe I already have? Mr. Robot didn't expect this, did he? And Tyrell has no idea what the fuck's going on at all. But the expressions on their faces, those are the same. Looking from one to the other, they are both looking at me like I'm going to hit the red button.

 

“You're the same.”

 

Fuck. That's it, isn't it? Tyrell is just another piece of me, just as Mr. Robot is. I fucking _knew_ it. Tyrell is dead. He's dead and I am the one that killed him.

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tyrell's arm shakes as he speaks, he looks like his world is falling apart. Maybe it is. Now that I know the truth.

 

“We are definitely not the same.” Amidst the lies and the deceit, does he think that I could actually believe him? Either he lied about Tyrell being dead or Tyrell doesn't exist so, in both scenarios, Mr. Robot is a lying piece of shit.

 

“Back away from the computer!” Tyrell looks like he's at the end of his rope, do you see it too? Can you see how he shakes? His face turning purple and his glassy eyes? I could almost believe a word he says.

 

Then I look at _him_. 'This is just another one of Mr. Robot's mind tricks.' He has created this Tyrell character, he made all of this happen. It's why he cracked the code the way he did, he knew I would follow him. He did fucking see me after all. He led me right into his trap.

 

“No.” It almost feels good, to have some control. I've been so long without it.

 

“Elliot, I don't want to shoot you but I will.” If I concentrate hard enough, maybe I will feel the weight of the gun in my hand. Because it's not in his hand, is it? It's in mine.

 

“Elliot, listen to him,” Mr. Robot's pretty good, who would've thought a figment of my imagination would be a good actor? But I know that's all it is, all he is. They are both me. It's me, I'm in control. I look to Mr. Robot and back to the gun.

 

“He's not holding a gun. He's not even there.” It's so obvious now. A dead man can't come back from the dead. It's definitely more likely that I, a paranoid schizophrenic, have created the image of Tyrell to deal with my guilt.

 

“Elliot, you need to listen to him and step away from the computer.”

 

Now I just need to find out what they have been discussing while I've been out of it. There must be some kind of way to do it.

 

_Mind awake, body asleep, mind awake, body asleep, mind awa-_

 

“Touch that keyboard and I will shoot you.”

 

I approach Tyrell, take in the terror and pain in his eyes. He's almost beautiful like this, knowing that he's been figured out.

 

“No, you won't.” Speaking to Mr. Robot now or maybe to myself. “He can't, he doesn't exist. I'm the only one that exists.”

 

Tyrell drops the gun, the noise of it echoes around the abandoned warehouse, it reverberates through my body and makes my nerves sing.

 

“I exist, Elliot. I exist!” He rushes forward, pushing me with his body until I back into the desk. His weight feels heavy against me, chest hard against my own. He towers over me until I'm lying back on the desk and his face is inches away.

 

He's careful not to knock over the computer, I can't say I care as much.

 

His eyes are filled with unshed tears.

 

“Please, Elliot, I need you to know that I exist.” I can still see Mr. Robot out of the corner of my eye.

 

“I know you don't exist. You're a manifestation of my guilt and he knows,” I nod in Mr. Robot's direction; that imaginary bastard who stole the image of my dead father.

 

Tyrell glances that way too and lets his head fall against my chest. He's sniffling. I hope he doesn't get snot on me. Everything about this moment feels so real I can almost believe he exists. He looks up and his eyelashes have clumped together with tears.

 

His eyes are bright blue, tinged red around the edges. It's what I see before his mouth presses against mine, lips soft. Softer than mine, I'm sure. Am I kissing myself? Do you see this or have I reached a new level of delusion? Seriously, can you see this? Actually, never mind, I couldn't hear your answer anyway.

 

He grabs my shoulders and pulls me towards him, my legs bracketing his hips. I can't help but gasp and then his tongue is inside my mouth, brushing against my own. His breath is coming out in short, sharp bursts against my cheek and he's making some sort of noise in the back of his throat that's got me hard.

 

I'm still not sure how normal this is. Masturbating is masturbating but kissing yourself, or a figment of your imagination, I am pretty sure is impossible. But here we are. He must really be in my head because he responds to something I'm pretty sure I never said.

 

“I'm real, Elliot,” he pants, hands on either side of my face. He's pressing kisses to any skin he can reach and I can almost believe him.

 

“You know... I almost wish you were,” I whisper somewhere between us and his lip quivers. Our noses touch and my eyes close, his hands are on either side of my neck now and I didn't realise I would like him – me? - touching me so much.

 

“Let me prove it to you,” his voice floats, glides against my skin and I'm shaking. My hoodie's zip is already undone, t-shirt above my head before I can even respond. I start to shiver but his mouth is against mine again and I yield to him. If he's not real, I'm going to enjoy this while it lasts. I can have this moment and pretend, for a little while, that I didn't kill him in the arcade and bury him in a place I'll never remember.

 

I pull his tie free from his collar, it comes away easily and I'm not usually so dexterous in sexual situations. His hands are against my lower back then, scorching in the chill of the room. I try to unbutton his shirt delicately, gracefully, the way he rid me of my own clothes, but I snag one and then another. He soon takes the lead and just rips the thing off himself, a stray button hits my shoulder.

 

Then his arms are around me again and he pulls my legs tighter around his body. He's hard in his dress pants and large, larger than I am. Then he's pushing me back down against the desk, my back against the cold wood.

 

The computer whirs beside us, it might be hibernating. I wonder if I can still get rid of the malware, that backdoor.

 

Then my jeans and boxers are gone, shoes and socks disappearing in their wake. Tyrell/me is thorough in stripping. Tyrell shucks off his own trousers, tight boxer shorts pooling around his ankles. Our skin meets again and we both groan. Did I groan for both of us?

 

He's pressing his lips to my chest, he's more gentle than I thought he would be. He's whispering against my skin, I can't hear what he's saying but it feels almost like a prayer. My hands are in his hair. From the moment we met, I wondered about his hair; how he could go through life with his hair so strategically placed.

 

I drag my fingers through it and tug it hard. He groans and bites me in response. I hope it'll leave a bruise. If he leaves a bruise, he might just be real.

 

“Mark me,” my voice is a growl and it comes as a surprise, “bruise me. Let me know you're real.”

 

He looks up then, breathing like he's run a marathon. He slowly leans over, eyes still on mine, and latches his mouth against my hip bone. He's biting, licking, gnawing at my skin and my dick leaks at the feeling.

 

I glance around, hoping _he_ isn't here, hoping he's gone. I can't see him and I relax, knowing he can't ruin this moment. Tyrell had, in the mean time, moved to my other hip and the pain sears into my brain. I dig my nails into his broad shoulders, I just want to pierce his perfect skin.

 

He moves back up and his tongue is once again in my mouth, he licks inside like he's parched and I'm his only life source. I'm digging my fingernails into his back then and he bucks against me, he bares his teeth against the pain.

 

I can feel his cock graze against mine and then he's biting my neck, his sharp, white teeth nipping at my skin. My fingers slide through his unravelled hair, I try to speak between uneven breaths.

 

“Fuck me, I need -” But Tyrell is already nodding and he's pressing his fingers into my mouth, eager for me to suck. I can feel him staring at my mouth and the way his fingers disappear between my lips. The creases in his fingers are salty and I drink it in, slurping around two digits, before he adds a third.

 

Then his fingers are at my hole and it feels strange, alien even. I've never been with a man, never explored that part of myself. Shayla tried to stick a finger in my ass once but I told her it wasn't going to happen, even if I was out of my mind on morphine. She didn't do it again but then there was Tyrell.

 

His voice is like honey then, “I can't wait to be inside you,” before he sinks his index finger all the way inside. My toes curl and he's still staring at my face when he finds a spot there that has me banging my head against the desk. He pushes his free hand under my head, pillowing my skull and there's something in the small gesture that has my heart clenching.

 

I turn my head and his face is right there, eyes bright and interested, a bare whisper from my own.

 

“More,” my lips almost can't form the word but he seems to know because another finger is sliding in beside the first one and it would be uncomfortable, painful even, if he wasn't using his delicate fingers in such a precise way.

 

But then a third finger breaches and it feels like I won't stretch around it. My eyes screw shut of their own accord and I grit my teeth against the pain, but then his lips are against my cheek and he's shushing me quietly.

 

“It'll pass soon, Elliot, you're doing so well. Do you know how beautiful you look right now?” I turn and look at him, I can feel tears build up in the corners of my eyes. He presses delicate kisses to my eyes, lips drying my tears at the contact.

 

I sniffle, “Please, please.” I don't know what I'm asking for, why I'm pleading with him.

 

“It's okay, my love,” Tyrell is standing on the ground once again and is pulling my legs to wrap around his body. In the dim light, he looks like alabaster, Michelangelo couldn't have sculpted a more perfect being. “I'll take care of you.”

 

He frees his fingers from my body and wraps it around my cock but when I push his hand away, he looks confused, almost hurt.

 

“I'm too close.”

 

But Tyrell just smiles, there's something like love lingering on his lips. He lines himself up and bends over, pulling my body down to meet his cock.

 

“Ready?” I nod my head and then he's pressing inside and it feels like he's splitting me wide open. I can't keep my eyes open but he just keeps spearing forward until his hips are pressed against my ass.

 

My body is shaking, heaving, I've never felt as full in my life. Then he's leaning forward and his hands are under my body, pulling me closer.

 

“Do you believe me yet?” He's almost begging but I can't give him what he wants.

 

“I don't know.”

 

His lips quiver, his eyes are a colour I don't think I've ever seen before. I'm trying to place it but I don't think I could. Not right now. Not when his considerable length is throbbing inside me. Then he's pulling out slowly, before pushing back in at the same rate.

 

Tyrell kisses with a fierceness I didn't know was possible, that I didn't know I could reciprocate.

 

His pace picks up and the heat between us is almost unbearable, it feels like I've been mapping the inside of his mouth for hours.

 

But then he's pulling away and his fingers are pressing bruises into my hips. He pummels inside, I can feel the ridge of his cock catch on the inside of my rim on every thrust. It hurts but it's more like relief than anything I've experienced before.

 

Then Tyrell is slowing down again but I try to speed him up, “please,” I'm begging again. But he's leaning down and pressing words to my face.

 

“I love you, Elliot,” his hands are in my hair. “I adore you and I'm going to come inside you now so you will never forget it.”

 

He stands up again and, with one hand around my cock, he fucks inside me with such intensity that I lose my breath.

 

“Prove it to me. Please, Tyrell.” And I can feel the tears build up in the corners of my eyes. Tyrell's face screws up in pleasure and I'm almost there, can feel a rush behind my cock. My balls tighten up and then I'm coming over his knuckles.

 

He rings my cock out, moaning things like 'min kärlek' and 'min älskling' and I hope above hope that, because I don't know Swedish, it might mean that he's real. That this is all real. 

 

He pulls me up to sit on his cock – my arms around his shoulders – and fucks inside, harder than before, and I know he's close.

 

“I believe you.” He cums suddenly, surprising both of us, and his moans sound almost like relief. His cum paints my insides, filling me up, I can feel his cock spasming. 

 

We sink to the ground, his cock still partially nestled inside me and he's licking inside my mouth. 

 

His hands hold my face tenderly and he's whispering again. 

 

“Du är så vacker, min kärlek,” his voice is quiet, he's staring with such intensity, like a bug under a microscope. 

 

I can feel his cum leaking out of me. 

 

“This won't last, y'know,” I admit, “it can't. There's still Stage Two and I can't be a part of that.” 

 

Tyrell smiles but he looks sad and I have to look away. 

 

“Let's just lie here for a little while then and we'll worry about that later.” 

 

I settle against his chest and I glance across the room. Mr. Robot is there again and he's just shaking his head, leaning back, a cigarette dangling from his lips. 

 

“Well, that's one way to change your mind.” 

 

He looks so fucking pleased with himself. 

 

“I haven't changed my mind.” 

 

Suddenly he's crouching beside our prone forms and grinning. 

 

“Keep telling yourself that, kiddo.” 

 


End file.
